I used to be a dreamer

At night or day

I'd make shapes out of the clouds in the sky
out of fire places and amber cracks,
out of the wood planks of my bed at my mother's place
and the bathroom tiles on my father's floor.

I'd listen to the stories pigeons coo
and what the wind whispers in the willow trees
If you'd cared to stop and listen.

In my worlds I'd be the hero
of course.
I'd be strong,
untoucheable.
Come out on top.
Untouched by all.
People

I can still see those shapes
but I have to make myself look.
I've lost that innocence.
People made me.
People

I'd like to be a dreamer again.
But it gets lonely
getting lost in your dreams.

How much longer
can I
Continue
?